


straight on (to home)

by blindmadness



Category: Twelve Houses - Sharon Shinn
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindmadness/pseuds/blindmadness
Summary: After a tumultuous summer, Kirra and Donnal travel back to Danalustrous.
Relationships: Kirra Danalustrous/Donnal (Twelve Houses)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	straight on (to home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luxuria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxuria/gifts).



> Sharon Shinn is my favorite author, and the Twelve Houses books are my favorite works of hers, and -- well, Kirra is technically my second favorite character (Cammon edges her out by a HAIR), but _The Thirteenth House_ is my favorite book in the series. All of which is to say that I welcomed the chance to get to dive into this world with my entire heart, because it's so important and so dear to me!
> 
> Reading your prompt, the very first idea that popped into my mind was the missing scene of Kirra and Donnal traveling back to Danalustrous and figuring things out a little bit, to start reaching the point we hear about from Kirra in _Dark Moon Defender._ So the fic that emerged is kind of a mishmash of your ideas -- the two of them traveling together, Kirra embracing the gifts of her shapeshifting abilities and her connection to the Wild Mother, and examining her feelings -- and through them, Donnal's own, too. (I thought about writing from his POV, but he's a hard nut to crack! So much easier to slip into Kirra's head, tumultuous as it is in there.)
> 
> I hope this captures some of the joy and emotion that reading these books always brings me for you, dear recip; thank you so much for giving me the chance to write this, and happiest of Yuletides to you! ♥

They flew, unstopping, for an entire day, barely moving more than a wingspan away from one another, and by nightfall they were close enough to the border of Danalustrous to reach it, should they choose, at a slow amble in human shape, without tiring. But Kirra headed towards the ground instead, landing on one of the taller branches of one of the lower trees, fluffing her wings out before settling in for the night. Donnal followed suit, landing beside her, not so much as trilling a question. She didn’t know if he understood her decision, or if he simply wasn’t questioning it; either way, she was grateful.

She had started the day brimming with single-minded purpose, but that was when she’d believed she was alone, and she had thought she needed the purpose to focus her, to give her strength and will that she wasn’t able to find inside herself. Now, Donnal was at her side again, and so she wouldn’t, she _couldn’t_ simply throw herself headfirst into whatever would come next for her. She needed time first. She needed time to simply be.

She would still go home soon—everyone would be expecting her, and she truly did want to be there. She just wanted to feel a little more like herself before it happened, and she knew the best way to accomplish this task.

And Donnal, as always, was giving her exactly what she needed. Just as he’d always done, with one significant exception. But maybe that had been a blessing in disguise—maybe the time apart from him, much as it had rent her to pieces, had been what she needed to realize exactly how necessary he was to her, to understand exactly how impossible it had been to truly function without him at her side, to never take him for granted again.

She couldn’t think about this now. She would have to, she knew, and soon. There was no way she was going to return to Danalustrous with anything unsaid between her and Donnal. But not tonight. The day had already felt like it had lasted a week, the week as if it had lasted a year. Now, she needed rest. Tomorrow, she would start the long, tedious process of sorting out her thoughts and deciding what she needed to say.

Tonight, she would sleep, knowing that the world, at least for now, looked exactly as it was meant to again.

The next morning, Kirra woke refreshed and ready to fly, if in a far less purposeful way than she had the day before.

She could tell Donnal was already awake and cried a greeting to him, then paused, ruffling her feathers in dismay for how inappropriate of a sound it seemed to greet such a beautiful morning. So she shifted into the form that would enable her to trill the pure, simple joy of being alive—a vividly colored songbird, whose voice seemed much more suited to the brightness of the morning, the promise of the day ahead.

Donnal shifted to match her—a more common bird, more muted in color, always the backdrop to her vividity, the shadow to her brightness—and she trilled in delight again, the simple joy of such a thing, having a companion—and then, as if by mutual wordless agreement, they took to the sky.

This, Kirra thought as she stretched her wings to the tip—feeling the wind beneath every feather, carrying her forward, feeling the sun beam down on her, far above the world—was exactly the right form for her this morning. One that could soar, untroubled, that could leave any notion of trouble or heartache behind. Anytime she took a smaller, more ornamental winged shape, it seemed simply impossible that anything but joy could touch her life.

And that was what she needed now. She needed to remember that joy could exist, that pure happiness could be found in the simplest of things. To revel in what she still had, even when it had felt like she might never be able to bear living again. To remind herself that there were so many things she could take joy in, and always would be.

There was Senneth and Tayse—love that still existed, love that would last, that reminded her that such a love, unselfish and untumultuous and undefeated, was possible. There was their entire group of friends, the six of them who had crossed Gillengaria together twice now and would likely do so again—friends she loved, friends she would kill for, friends she knew she could always rely on. There was the new ability flowing through her, the new magic she had learned—to turn people into animal shape, to save them from red horse fever—the ability she couldn’t wait to put into practice, to do what she could to give something back with the magic that had been gifted to her.

There was simply so much potential in the world, and it was so much clearer in this shape, flying above all of it. The wind beneath her wings, the warmth of the sun, the world stretched out before her. It felt as if anything was possible, as if the energy and life of the world was simply bubbling up inside of her, no room for anything in her small body but pure, uncomplicated contentment. It wouldn’t last, she knew, but she wanted to revel in it for as long as she could.

By the time the sun grew high, beaming gold light down across a pure blue sky, the warmth of midday lending a lazy weight to the air currents beneath Kirra’s wings, she knew that she had reached that point. So she let herself descend in a long, slow dive—Donnal following behind her—and she extended her claws toward the ground, and in a slow, seamless motion, they extended into long, sleek legs, and her body grew to match them, and her teeth grew and her head lengthened, and when she fully reached the ground, she was in the shape of a lioness.

Next to her, Donnal landed on the ground as well—in one instant a bird, in the next a wolf. Kirra bared her teeth at him in an approximation of a fierce smile—the closest she could come to expressing everything she was feeling in his form—and then she began to run.

The lioness, a shape built for power, for danger, was the perfect form for the way Kirra now let herself feel, the emotions she had suppressed while soaring through the air: restless. Ferocious. Angry.

Yes—despite herself, she was angry. Angry that for all the good she wanted to do, there would still be those who viewed her magic, who viewed _her_ with suspicion and fear and hatred—even more so given what she was about to do, heedless of how good her intentions and how many lives she might save where no one else could. Angry at how much difficulty and injustice was in the world, even with a good man like Baryn on the throne, even with good and just marlords and marladies trying to keep the peace. Angry at how tirelessly people like Senneth worked to keep that peace, to ensure justice and goodness and harmony, and how careless evil men and ambitious women were being with the very things that kept the country prosperous and safe. Angry at how her uncle had been one of them—had fooled her into loving him while hiding betrayal and darkness in his heart. Angry at how many more were like him, all that they were willing to do. Plot and scheme against their king; flout his rules and offer violence to his Riders, his mystics, his regent.

Angry at Romar Brendyn, too, for wanting her—for pursuing her—for throwing everything he had away and making it impossible for her to resist, for being unable to walk away from her when he was the one who had so much more to lose—for refusing to give her up to the very end. For forcing her to make the choice that had torn her apart.

Angry at herself for making the same choices he had—for nearly being unable to walk away from him, either. For being so reckless, so selfish, so careless. For believing all along it had been worth it.

For, even now, not being entirely convinced it hadn’t been. 

For whatever it had cost her, it had been something entirely new to her experience, and she had to feel as if she had learned something from it—whether it was what she was capable of doing when she believed she was in the right or a new depth and capacity for joy or simply how much her heart could break without destroying her utterly.

This shape was perfectly suited to her fury—the speed with which she could run, the strength in her limbs, the ease with which she could bring down game and gorge herself on it if she chose (Donnal at her side, but even he seeming dwarfed by her power and capability). And it was the best shape for her to bear her fury, because the lioness was the strongest, the most powerful creature in these woods. Not only did she seem made for anger, made _of_ anger, she was shaped in a way that made her fully capable of bearing it.

In this form, it felt as if there was nothing she couldn’t do, nothing she wasn’t strong enough to overcome. She could tear down any obstacles in her path, destroy anything that chose to oppose her. She felt strong enough to do anything. Run from anything that chased her. Take down anyone who sought to stop her. Terrify any and all creatures who stood in her way.

Maybe even live with the sadness and pain that she knew would shadow so many of her days to come. Maybe even pull together the pieces of her bruised and bloody heart and attempt to shape them back into a coherent, functional whole.

Kirra let that strength and ferocity and purpose fill her for hours as she and Donnal made their way through the woods, hunting and running and simply existing, and by the time the sun had crossed the sky and was beginning its long, slow arc towards the horizon, she felt them within her, alchemized from the shape of the lioness and into her own soul, and she knew she had drawn from them everything she could. It was time for her to shift again, and she knew exactly which shape she would take.

She stopped, and she let Donnal catch up to her, and she let him watch as she transformed—a more compact shape this time, with more delicate paws and body, smaller teeth and claws. The golden hound she had been when the two of them had joined the pack hunting in Nocklyn. 

Donnal shifted alongside her instantly, becoming the black mixed breed he had been that day—strongly built, slightly shaggy, long-eared and long-limbed. Kirra let out a little bark of happiness upon recognizing his form, then began to run. She didn’t know if they’d hunt in this shape, too; maybe if something caught their scent. Maybe they would chart a specific course throughout the woods. Maybe they would just run and play until full darkness enveloped them. It was easy to feel carefree in this shape.

Easy, too, to feel that joy magnified with the presence of a companion at her side, particularly this companion

And that was why she had chosen this form. She had wanted to remind herself, in the most vivid way she knew how, that no matter how she was feeling, no matter what it was she felt she had to bear, she didn’t have to do it by herself. She wasn’t alone.

In a shape that could easily leap towards someone in welcome, lick their face, wag her tail in a gesture that would show the joy overtaking her body at the sight of them, it was easy to think about her friends, her truest companions, the people she knew would kill for her—the people she would kill to keep safe, and had. It was easy to remember that she had a family—a father who would give up everything before he would choose to abandon her, a sister whose love and faith in her were absolute, even a stepmother who worked every day to ensure that Kirra had a place where she belonged.

She had a network throughout Gillengaria of nobles who were allies, even friends, who welcomed her into their homes and worked with her to achieve their common goals. A multitude of places she could go and expect that doors would be opened for her, that she would be greeted with acceptance, appreciation, even genuine pleasure. She had a king who trusted her and cared for her and wanted nothing more than to see her happy.

She had a goddess who had, from the moment she was born, wrapped her in magic that was freedom and protection and joy and power, who had chosen Kirra to bestow with the wildest and most precious of gifts, who had never abandoned her. Who was the reason she could change from shape to shape to find whatever it was she needed in the world and take it for herself.

And, of course, she had Donnal. Who was more to her than words could ever describe. Whose presence she knew now she could always count on. Who was never going to leave her side again.

This was the shape—in which she ran, in which she bayed, in which she playfully nipped at Donnal’s heels and bared her teeth at passing squirrels simply to watch them flee—in which she could fully embrace this knowledge and what it meant to her. That whatever she was now—whatever she became next—she could know with full certainty that she was never going to be alone.

And as the confidence of it seeped into her bones, she let herself truly feel it. And when they bounded through a clearing—a small, protected space of the woods, in the peaceful shelter of trees, seeming even more secret and protected than the rest of the wilderness—she changed her shape again, as soon as the thought had crossed her mind.

This time, the shape she took was her own. And only her own, so that when she turned towards Donnal, slow and deliberate, it was entirely without clothing.

Donnal skidded to a halt several feet away from her, bewilderment clear in his demeanor, even in the fading light of the day, even without the quiet, questioning whine he let out as he looked at her.

Kirra smiled. She couldn’t help it. It felt so good to feel—not joy, not quite yet, not as herself; not even something as simple as contentment, really. But—peace. Stability. Confidence that she was going to be all right, that she could face whatever came next with a steady mind and a calm heart. A clear idea of how she felt and what she wanted.

And what she wanted was this.

“It’s all right,” she said, because it was the best way she could think to describe, simply, how she was feeling. “Come on. You’ve kept pace with me all day. Don’t stop now.”

Her voice held a little teasing lilt, but Donnal didn’t respond to it. He simply sat, still in dog shape, and gave a short, sharp bark. The refusal couldn’t have been clearer.

“I know,” Kirra said, more seriously now, and it could have been in response to any number of statements. _You were, until recently, in love with another man, and might still be. You’ve experienced enormous emotional upheaval, and you aren’t thinking clearly. You shouldn’t make choices like this until you’ve recovered, until you’ve had time to think about what they might mean and where they might lead. You shouldn’t do this unless you can tell me you won’t break my heart._

Though that last was Kirra’s own thought entirely. Donnal would never ask her not to break his heart. Donnal had probably spent his life certain that she couldn’t avoid it.

The thought ached, but she let herself feel it. She deserved to face whatever pain resulted in her thinking, clearly and head on, about what it might mean to actually, truly be with Donnal. That was the only way she was going to be able to make the right decisions, the ones that would hurt him least. She didn’t know if she could avoid hurting him entirely, but she was going to do everything she could to try.

“I know,” she said again, and spread her hands, a helpless gesture that she nonetheless made with confidence. “But—I still want to. I still _need_ to, I think. Here. Before we go back to Danalustrous, and I become…”

She trailed off, taking a moment to choose her words. “When I am in Danalustrous—I belong to it. And to my family. And I can never forget that. And when I go to the island and do whatever I can to heal all of those people—I will belong to them, and to my magic. To whatever goddess gave me the power to heal. And when I’m on the road with Senneth and everybody, I belong to the king, and to the kingdom. And to all of them, too. Even Justin, a little,” she admitted, her mouth twisting wryly.

“The only time I’m ever just myself—entirely myself, with no other obligations or ties or bonds—is when we’re like this, together. When I’m with you. And I want… one more moment of that. Now, when I haven’t felt that way in so long. When I _need_ to feel that way, so I can remember what it’s like and hold it with me.”

He still didn’t move. He let out another sound, closer to a soft whine now.

Kirra understood that, too. She understood that he had never refused her, that he could never refuse her. Just as she was pleading with him, he was pleading with her. He couldn't bring himself to say yes, but he didn’t want to say no, either. He didn’t want this to be a mistake they both made.

“I can’t make you any promises,” she said, and though the words were simple, they felt heavy in her mouth. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. But I can’t imagine there will ever be a time when I don’t want you with me. When I don’t need you with me. You are the most essential piece of my heart. You remind me who I am. I need that now. I need—I need to be with you so that I can remember how to be myself.”

It sounded absurd, and it sounded selfish, but it was the truth, the utterly unromantic truth. She wished it could be more than that for her, now, but the full reality was that before she could make any thoughtful choices about her future, she needed to be back to the person she knew she was; she needed to inhabit herself fully, and the best way to ensure that seemed to be this, here and now, with Donnal. She needed to absorb the full extent of knowledge that he had of her, because she needed to be herself before she could, with her whole heart, choose to be with him.

“And I want that—now. I need it now.” She took a deep breath, feeling, for the first time, a little unsteady. “I don’t want to wait until—I feel calmer, or I’m thinking more clearly, or I’ve had more time. I want to remember who I am, and be who I am, with the person who best reminds me. I need that first. I need it before I can even think about doing the rest of it. There’ll be time for it later. We have all the time in the world. For now—like this—it needs to be you and me. It’s always been you and me. That is the only truth I can always be sure of.”

There was a long moment where she looked at Donnal, and he looked back at her. And she didn’t know what it was—her words, or the clear, helpless plea in them, or the fact that she had spoken so plainly, without artifice or glamour or thought. Maybe it was the sheer selfish unromantic nature of her words that had convinced him she meant them with all her heart. Or maybe it had simply been inevitable, from the first moment they’d met, and Donnal had finally run out of reasons to pretend it wasn’t.

Whatever it was, one moment he was a dog, and in the blink of an eye he was a man again. He hadn’t bothered with clothing, either, and the breath caught in Kirra’s throat as he approached her, slowly.

His expression was more raw than she’d ever seen it before. The man who walked towards her was a Donnal unlike any she’d seen before—a Donnal entirely without walls—and slowly, the gesture cautious, as if extended toward a wild creature who might flee at any moment, he held out his hand to her.

Slowly, in turn—not because she was unsure, but because it meant everything—Kirra took his hand, and she stepped into his arms.

And when her mouth met his, she—who had spent the day shifting from shape to shape—knew what it was to feel truly transformed.

After, she conjured layers upon layers of warm blankets for them, and they slept cocooned and protected, not a single part of him not touching a single part of her.

And in the morning, they dressed, and hand in hand, they walked across the border and into Danalustrous.


End file.
